


Freak "Larry"

by LarryForever69



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Bullying, Depressed Harry, First Kiss, Gay, Gay Sex, Kissing, Lonely Harry, Love Poems, M/M, Popularity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarryForever69/pseuds/LarryForever69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can remember some things so clearly, <br/>I could trick myself,Imagine that I was falling all over again.<br/>The sound of wings of feathered voices. <br/>Whispering.</p>
<p>For Harry Style, budding poet and proud outsider,Freshman,grade is a year etched in his memory<br/> "clear as pain"<br/>That's,the year his older sister Gemma,.once his best buddy and fellow "alien" has bloomed like a beautiful flower, The year where everyone started to call him names. Freak, Ugly, Stupid, Were the words he heard all around the school. But when one old friend comes back will everything change for the better or will it change for the worst.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is an actual book called Freak I'm just making it to a Larry version. The Original is way better of course all credit goes to FREAK by-Marcella Pixley.<br/>Go check it out!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

REMEMBER 

You do it anyway,even if it hurts,reach back,into the Attic,  
through the smallest opening   
and you look around in there.  
I can remember some things  
so clearly, I could trick myself, imagine that I was falling  
all over again. The sound of wings, of feathered voices whispering.

 

Harry's P.O.V

Sometimes when you try to make sense of things, They're foggy, and you have to reach way back to pull up the shadows. Even then sometimes they're too dark to really see. Other things are clear as pain, so recent that remembering takes over, and all you can do is sit back and let the memories come. When I try to write down what happened to me, this what it's like: a symphony blaring all the parts at once. a gigantic puzzle that you have to put back together piece by piece. And all i can do is write it down fast so i only have to do it this once, and then maybe, just maybe, I'll be done with it forever

If you asked me how the whole mess started, I would tell you it happened around the same time Louis came to stay. Louis's parents had decided to spend their time in India . They were always saying they wanted to do something good for their world, and suddenly there was this organization that was going to install hot and cold running water in a village somewhere, They asked Louis to come with them, But he wasn't about to spend his senior year digging ditches, for goodness' sake. louis's father asked my father and my father asked us. But before we made any decisions, we had a meeting in the living room to discuss whether or not Louis could stay. My parents call these meeting living room democracies. They're essential to out family dynamics. Each member of the family has to vote yes or no.

During living room democracies. I like to sit in the orange armchair and read Oxford English Dictionary. I'm trying to memorize every word in the English language so that one day, when I become a poet laureate, I can say it's because of all the words I learned when i was in my freshman year. My mom is so proud of my big vocabulary. She says that when God painted me, he spent so much time making me interesting he didn't have energy left to make me beautiful, but that's fine with her because there are more important things in life than a pretty face. I know I'm nothing like Gemma,who discovered she was beautiful when she was twelve . Now that she's in high school, she seems like a flower when she walks into a room, all fragrant and blooming. It used to be that Gemma would read the Oxford English Dictionary with me. We'd make a pillow fort on the living room rug and find all the Latin roots Gemma used to say them out loud and I'd write them down in our notebook so we would remember them forever....

Now, me reading the dictionary drives Gemma crazy because it reminds her that she used to be intelligent like me. Gemma says boys are intimidated by woman who are cerebral. I'm gay by the way for two years now :D ok back to the point. Gemma has a lot of feminine Attributes. She wears everything low and light so no matter where you look, you can see skin, AS for me, I like feeling cuddled up in soft cotton I'll choose Khaki pants and a sweater vest. Mom says it's good that I know how to be comfortable 

That evening, I was reading the Ss all alone and I enunciated each work toward Gemma so the sound of them spit out of my mouth. "Surreptitious,surreptitious,surreptitiously..." 

'Very nice," my father chuckeled "Now put your book back way for a minute because we have something important to talk about".

My father is what our gym teacher Mr.Dect, calls a die hard liberal. Mr.Dect says this like it's a disease. Like your political beliefs Can kill you Being a die-hard liberal meaning not getting cable television on purpose. It means riding a bike five miles to Kenmore College because there are enough cars on the road already, for goodness'sake, It means being a little shaggier than other fathers. It mean National Public Radio and chamber music concerts and a compost heap in the back year. I pushed the dictionary away with my bare feet and looked at him while he talked. I like to watch his eyes twinkle 

"Okay, Guys," my father said

"Your mother and I wanted to include both of you in this decision because it's going to affect us all" He looked straight at us , and i caught a glimpse of what he might be like as a English professor, Talked in his soft voice, Sipping on his coffee with a book of poetry in one hand

" Jrake and Suzan called last night. They told us their application has been accepted If all goes well, they'll leave for India at the end of the month. Of course they've invited Louis, but it's his senior year and things are going well he just doesn't want to go" Gemma picked up the dictionary and started riffing through pages, but she caught me watching and put it down. 

"You know how important his acting career is to him" my father went on 

" He had auditions at NYU in December, and the Shakespeare festival this fall. Jrake asked if we would be willing to let him stay here so he could finish Senior year in peace" 

 

(If you guys want an update i have to have at least 5 votes and 2 comments and then I'll update)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How it started"

Harry's P.O.V.

"It could be healthy for us," my mother joined,her voice smoky and tired from from late many late nights in her studio trying to get ready for opening at Carlton Community Center. It wasn't anything special, but it was first show she had given in years. My mother says she would have gone to art school is she hadn't had Gemma so early, but sometimes God works in mysterious ways. My mother's paintings are an acquired tast. They are filled with blurred lines and dusty color. My mother always has paint under her fingernails and her black hair always has hints of color from her work the night before. That day she had a strand of yellow just behind her ear that made it look like she had dipped her hair in mustard.

 

"I was telling your father last night. It could be good to have another man around here besides you harry of course and you could bond with him more"

Gemma rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, I think he'll bring more than a little testosterone. Louis's totally girl crazy these days.

"And boys" I interred

" Like you have a chance Harry Louis is BI so he would rather date me" she muttered the last part

 

"Stacy told me Louis's is the most hottest guy in drama class"

"Whatever that means," sighed my mother 

"The point is Louis needs a family. We've known him for his whole life. I think we should let me stay"

My father held his cup of coffee. With his other hand, he pouched a mob of hair back onto his head. I know my father is going bald, even if he'll never admit it. He's letting the curly hair on the dides his head grow long so he can brush it over his bald spot. At first you couldn't really tell, and the extra hair just looked like a misplaced bangs, but after a few years the bald in the middle got bigger and hair on the sides got thinner.

My mother licked her two fingers for one reason or another: either to taste a drop of spilled coffee or to twist her paintbrush into a point or to rub smudge of dirk off my cheek. I hate it when she does that. She'll lick her fingers and then grab me by the arm so I can't get away. Then she'll rub my cheek hard with wet fingers. There, she always says, that's better. There is nothing worse than having your mother saliva on your face. Except maybe having it in your hair.

MY father didn't seem to ind it though. He stretched his bare feet on the coffee table and offered her a sip of his coffee. It was espresso. It made our living room smell like a Bohemian cafe. My mother wrinkled her nose and waved his hand away.

"Just think of all the good times you guys had whenever we visited Louis's house" my father said.

"Think of all the dinners and slide shows" 

"and all the memories of Thanksgiving" my mother sighs. 

Her voice always sounds like its sighing. All her sentences dip down at the end like they are falling slowly down rabbit holes, trailing away.

"Think of that wonderful Thanksgiving, a few years ago all those candied "

I remembered one Thanksgiving but not because of the candied yams. We were all in elementary school, And Louis showed us real dead monkey skulls and told us this was how we looked on the inside. Gemma thought it was inhumane to dissect monkeys and I did too. But the dead monkey skulls had jaws that opened and closed. While everyone was eating apple pie, Louis and I brought a couple of skulls to the dinner table and pooped them out in front of Gemma while she was chewing. Opening and closing the jaws, We made them say monkey see, monkey do......... until Gemma there down her fork and marched off, announcing, Don't be disgusting it was wonderful.

"I don't care as long as he dosen't take a long time in the shower or walk around nude like harry" Gemma announced from carved rocking chair.

Judging from the length of her showers since she started high school, it was hard to imagine that anyone could take longer than Gemma. I started to think of what Louis might look like in the nude, But that mad me blush, I picked National Geographic and flipped through the pages. I stopped for color pictures of Pygmies in skimpy loincloths. I didn't want to contribute to the family meeting. I couldn't possibly be part of this living room democracy. Th thought of Louis living in our house for a whole year was too horrible.--and too wonderful--to imagine. he could recite Shakespeare with he British accent. And best of all, he loved poetry. He had book and books of poetry on his bedroom book self. One time when I was a little kid, He let me look at his collection of Dylan Thomas. I sat on his floor for hours and memorized the poems until Mom called and made me come home. Apple boughs. Lilting house. Dingle Starry. Heydays of his eyes. I still remember how it felt to say those wonderful, Delicious words.

"What do you think, Harry?" my mother asked 

"What?" I looked from the National Geographic 

"What do you think about Louis coming to stay with is for a while?" 

My mother and father leaned forward and waited for me to speak.

"I don't care," I said 

"We all have to vote," Gemma told me her voice irritating and superior.

"If we don't all vote then it's only a partial democracy, and any decision is null and void." she leaned forward on the rocking chair so that she was balanced on its wooden tips and I could see down her shirt to her lacy pink bra. The rocking chair creaked under her weight.

I reached over the table and bragged my father's coffee with both hands. The smell was so strong I almost dropped it onto the rug. But I closed my eyes tight and, Taking a deep breath, drowned the whole thing.

"Yes!" I cried "Yes, I think he should definitely stay here!" 

 

"You are such a alien" Gemma said rolling her eyes.

I picked up the national Geographic and pretended to read. but inside, my heart was pounding. Louis Tomlinson was going to move into our house. Louis with his monkey skulls, Louis with his rehearsals and his scripts, Louis with his monkey skulls Louis with his yellow Volkswagen Bug.

Louis Tomlinson in our house for a whole year. I turned the page of the National Geographic. There was a Pymy man, Standing with a spear in his hand. And he wasn't wearing anything Not even a loincloth.

A/N Vote!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it :)  
> ~Brenda


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's P.O.V.

The night before Louis came to stay, my mother sent me and Gemma up to the attic to get his room ready. She wanted us to get rid of all our old playing things so that he wouldn't be tripping over Action Figures and stuffed animals wherever he stepped.

The attic was filled with things we hadn't touched since our finger were smaller. In the corner was s bucket of dismembered barbies dolls that Gemma and I used to operate on, amputating their arms and legs, switching heir heads, lighting their hair on fire.

There was Gemma's violin in its dusty case, leaning against the closet door. There was the microscope set mom and dad gave us one Hanukkah, all boxed up. I remembered that winter we spent hour looking at small things. A piece of dust looked like a forest. A grain of salt look like diamonds. Now I knew if I lifted the lid I'd see the butterfly wings Gemma brought back from summer camp one year, and the glass slides where we'd smeared drops of of our own blood and scraping from the inside of our cheeks.

Over by the window was where we used to play Star Trek with all our action figures and stuffed animals. Gemma was the captain and I was the science officer. Back then, when she said, "You're such an alien" it was a compliment. 

I picked up the stuffed poodle we used to call Dr.McCoy and held it out to Gemma making it pant in its deep gravelly voice. "Remember me? Woof! Remember me, Captain Gemma? Woof! Woof!" 

Gemma almost smiled 

I brought him over and made him lick her cheek. 

She scowled suddenly and pushed my arm away. "Don't do that," she muttered, wiping her cheek as if it had been slobbered on by a real dog. 

" But I've been waiting for you, Captain. Woof!" 

Come one, Harry. Put him away and help me clean up this mess."

I dropped DR. McCoy in the garbage bag Mom said shed donate to Salvation Army as soon as she got a chance. But I knew it would probably sit for another five years in storage, Rotting away like the other bags of family throw ways: snowsuits picture books, school papers, things we were too tired of to look at anymore.

Gemma dumped the microscope and the bucket of Star Trek action figures into the garbage bag. She didn't look at any of them.

Gemma, remember when we used to play up here all the time?"

She nodded silently, and for a second I thought she was my sister again.

"Remember when we were home from school with chicken pox, Mom let us bring our meals up here so she wouldnt have to hear us scratching? Do you remember you were so itchy you paid me a dollar to scratch you back with my fingernails?"

 

Gemma shook the plastic bag to make more room. 

"Gross, Why do you keep bringing that up?"

I scooped a handful of clothes and thew them into the bag: old nightgowns Gemma's, Halloween costumes and animal slippers, 

"Remember when we used to tie towels around our necks and run around the house like superheroes?"

"No, I don't remember that," said Gemma, but I knew she was lying 

Gemma put a new sheet and pillowcase on the bed in the corner and went to the closet where Grandma Ann'e quilt laid folded and unused. She shook it and quilt unrolled like a sunset.

"help me do this, Harry"

I caught my corners at the bottom and we tucked them in, all snug along the sides. 

"Remember when we used to make forts in the blankets, and wed go in with our animals and pretend it was another world?"

Gemma turned away 

"Remember you used to bring your violin up here to practice? I loved that. I could hear you practicing in the middle of the night for that concerto competition. Id hear Vivaldi in my head all night ong. Dum de de dum de de dum. Do you remember that piece? If you look your violin out of its case and handed it to you, do you think you could still play? Do you even remember how to hold the bow?"

Gemma sighed like mom did whenever she was exasperated because id been talking too much and she was tired of my noise.

"Harry," she finally said, "Its enough, okay?"

I fluffed up the pillow.

She wiped of the big wooden desk with a damp cloth.

I worked up my courage and turned back to look at her. 

"Gemma, why don't you want to do things with me anymore?"

Gemma sprayed lemon cleaner on the old oak desk.

" I asked you a question." 

She didn't look at me " Please lets finish this," she said. 

I picked up my old scrapbook and started looking through the pages. There was Gemma at seven and me at five. Halloween tigers. Orange crepe-paper ears and black whiskers. ~Turn the page~ Another one from the same year. Hanukkah farces lit by candlelight's. The new microscope already opened. ~Turn the page~. Gemma at ten and me at eight the top of Mount Monadnock. Green army canteen and walking sticks. red bandannas. Another one from the same year. Sitting in the low branches of Grandpas maple tree.~Turn the page~ Eleven and nine. Kenmore Music School performance hall. Gemma on violin and me on saxophone . Serious faces. Music stands. Another one from later that year, cousin Pape's Bar mitzuah. Gemma wearing makeup for the first time. She's taller and all of the a sudden she has a woman's body. she's grinning and staring right into the camera, but im looking some where else, my face all wrinkled like im smelling rotten eggs. ~Turn the page~

And then, there it is. Gemma's graduation from Carlton Middle School, Gemma gorgeous in a white strapless sundress. Me in jogging pants and a T-shirt. Neither of us smiling . Each of us looking in separate directions. 

 

 

(A/N Don't forget to vote!!!)


	4. Chapter 2

Harry's P.O.V.

Gemma picked up the scrapbook and out it face down in the to drawer.

"Gemma," I said 

" Harry, I don't want to talk about this," She sprayed more lemon cleaner and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed 

" Gemma," I said again 

I took the cleaning spray out of her hand and stood in front of her so she had to look at me. For just a moment, her eyes met mine.

" I don't want to talk about this, " Gemma said again 

" Please stop trying to make me explain something that doesn't have an explanation."

"there has to be an explanation"

Gemma opened her mouth and then closed it again like a fish trapped behind glass. Then she took a breath.

"It;s not that you did something wrong, Harry. I just got sick of everyone thinking I was some kind of freak Kids like me now. Do you know what a big deal that is? Kids don't think I'm weird." 

"It's a good to be weird who cares if people think you're weird?" 

" I do," gemma told me, Her voice tight and pained. " I know you don't care what other people think of you, and That's okay. But I care, Harry. You have to understand this. I like having friends. I like being invited to parties. For the first time in my life, people think I'm the same as everyone else. i'm not going to do anything to mess that up"

Tears welled up in my eyes, but i didn't want Gemma to see me cry like a baby, I' m a boy for goodness sake'. I turned my face and wiped my hands over the quilt, smoothing out wrinkle that weren't there.

" And while ere on the topic," Gemma went on breathlessly, her voice propelled but the momentum of truths trembling into the room, 

"I wish you would remember how i feel about this when Louis's around. Try not to embarrass me. Try not to talk his ear off. Try not to bring up all the weird things we did as kids." 

I traced the pattern of flowers with my finger the curved line of roses and daisies. When I was very little boy, this used to be my favorite quilt. I used to make myself feel better by holding a corner of it between my thumb and two fingers and rubbing it against the side of my face. It was like a rabbit ear. Like inside of the softest rabbit ear. Now something inside me wanted to pick it up and hold it to my cheek and cry, but I didn't I just touched the pattern and tired not to let Gemma see my face.

"I hate you" I whispered so softly the words were almost not even there.

"What was that?" 

"Nothing" I said "Lets just finish this. I want Louis to love this room" 

I sifted through our stuffed animals. Then i closed my eyes and touched each one on the head before throwing it away.

( A/N VOTE!!!)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is a Fan Fiction so it is long. It might take up to chapter 5 until Harry actually meets Louis. But after that chapter everything will go good. Gemma is kinda like the bad big sister so get ready for a little mean things.  
> ~Love Brenda


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